TO MY GRANDMOTHER

Were Romney's limning true,

What a lucky dog were you,

Grandpapa!

Her lips are sweet as love;

They are parting! Do they move? Are they dumb?

Her eyes are blue, and beam

Beseechingly, and seem

To say "Come!"

What funny fancy slips

From atween these cherry lips?

Whisper me,

Sweet sorceress in paint,

What canon says I may n't

Marry thee?

That good-for-nothing Time

Has a confidence sublime!

When I first

Saw this lady, in my youth,

THE MINUET

Now she sits there rocking, rocking,
Always knitting Grandpa's stocking-
(Every girl was taught to knit
Long ago.)

Yet her figure is so neat,

And her ways so staid and sweet,
I can almost see her now

Bending to her partner's bow,
Long ago.

Grandma says our modern jumping,
Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping,
Would have shocked the gentle folk

Modern ways are quite alarming,

Grandma says; but boys were charming —